


Frostbite

by hippocrates460



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bedsharing, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Snowed In, There is a case, but there is only one bed!, it must be solved, it's not the sexual tension that needs resolving, it's the everything else, oh oh oh what a conundrum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25495177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocrates460/pseuds/hippocrates460
Summary: Harry was looking forward to a nice quiet Christmas, and gets assigned to a case at the very last minute. He has to keep an eye on a smuggling ring, in the middle of nowhere, all alone. Just when he thinks he couldn't be more miserable, a surprise shows up on his doorstep.It's an unhappy surprise, mostly in that the surprise himself is currently very unhappy.Whatever will they do?Title inspired by Hailey Leithauser, who said inFever:as bitter cruel as wintergale that scrapes and blowsAnd inFrostbite:the sleep so close,so old, so mildinside the placidscaldand hissing of the snow.This fic is complete, I will be posting the other chapters in the next few days(lil spoiler in the end notes)
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 22
Kudos: 237





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilian/gifts).



> Originally started for the Swap (which is why you're getting a snowed in fic in July), but finished for Lilian, who's a birthday person today, and a very special berry at all times. I hope you super love it, and that you have a fantastic day.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read this and commented on it and everyone that has encouraged me to give it another go over the past eh, two years. Thank you Lee for the quick last minute beta, you're a star

“Hey,” Harry says, and he can already feel the atmosphere crackle. He’s wearing only pyjamas under his winter cloak and feels Snape’s staring at his feet like a physical touch. Snape’s cheeks are just a touch pink and Harry wants to touch them more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. He’s got his arms wrapped around himself like it’s the only thing keeping him upright and it takes him a moment to notice things other than those pink spots. “Wait.” That’s a very big bag Snape’s wrestling through the door right now, “is all of that for me?”

Snape sends him the coldest look he’s ever gotten. He doesn’t even need to roll his eyes. “Robards has decided that you need help.”

“Fucking knew it,” Harry laughs, “he’s going to keep me here all week, isn’t he?”

“Until the auction. He wants to catch them in the act.” Snape is setting down the bags and looking around the tiny guard’s house at the very edge of the property. The only thing you can see through the windows is foggy fields, the creaky abandoned mansion and the muddy road. Harry has been here for a day and all he feels is  _ damp _ .

“Will you be switching out with me?” Harry rummages through the bag and finds some woollen socks. His feet are so cold they hurt, even though he’s spent most of the day sitting on the bed, wrapped in the duvet, staring out at the mansion.

Snape sighs, sinks down into the one chair. It groans and he startles back up. “Reparo.” The look on his face is so stern that Harry is sure the chair would have listened even if Snape had no magic at all. As it is it straightens itself out and even loses quite a bit of dust. “There is to be no traffic in or out at all, and only the most necessary magic,” Snape says finally, when he’s sitting again.

It takes a beat for Harry to catch on and then – “You’re trapped here with me?” His voice cracks ridiculously. How big does Robards think these smugglers are?

Snape laughs his dry, empty laugh. “And you are stuck here with me. No Apparition at all. I had to walk three miles.”

“Can we leave? Like to go outside?”

“If we are not seen,” Snape fidgets with something on the table. “Robards suggested waiting until it’s dark out.”

“Not that it’s light very often up here,” Harry complains. At least he has the Cloak with him, he can be invisible if he needs to be. “So you’ve brought food and supplies for a week.”

“Yes,” Snape’s tone is short and clipped. “Now make me some tea, Potter.”

They spend the next few hours arguing about who will stand guard at what times, what magic is necessary so they can survive the week together, how they’re going to avoid being noticed, and end up with a decent schedule that sees both of them getting enough sleep and plenty of daylight. All that remains is not killing each other.

“Wait,” Harry is rummaging through the cupboard. “All you brought are jars, where is the food?”

“Soup, Potter. It’s a liquid form of food.”

Harry barely contains himself, has to clench and unclench his hands several times and take three long breaths before saying: “For a whole week?”

“I was given a twenty minute’s notice I did not have the time to pack  _ provisions _ .”

The idea of Snape emptying out his cupboards that are apparently permanently stocked with jars and jars of soup is unexpectedly hilarious and Harry can’t stop the noise escaping.

“What’s that?”

“Sorry,” Harry laughs, kind of desperate at the thought of days with only Snape and his soup, “just. The soup.”

“I’m sure you’ll still find this hilarious after we’ve not eaten any solid food for a week.”

“Yeah,” Harry looks at the soup again. “That’s not happening. Hard pass.”

“You may recall from six years of magical education, Mr. Potter, that you cannot Transfigure food.”

“Yeah,” Harry grins and if anything, it just seems to piss off Snape more. Good, at least Harry won’t be the only one that’s on edge. “Winky?”

Winky pops into the room, “Mr. Potter, sir?”

“Hello, could you let Ron and Hermione know I’ve arrived safely and ask them for food for two for a few days?”

Winky bows, big ears flopping, and looks around the space with what could only be disgust. With what has to be a combination of elf magic and sheer bloody-mindedness, she gets all the pipes going and the woodstove to stop smoking, then disappears with a pop. When Harry turns to face Snape the look of utter surprise on his face almost makes him burst out laughing again. Something tells him that laughing at Snape won’t go down well though, and he manages to bite his tongue.

“Why did you suffer through that for a whole day when you could have fixed it like that?”

Harry shrugs, he had no idea Winky could make plumbing behave with a glare, “elf magic works in mysterious ways.”

“Why do you have an elf?” Snape asks, as he’s dipping some of the fresh bread Winky brought into the vaguely orange soup. Harry’s made himself a sandwich.

“I don’t, she’s Ron’s.”

Snape rolls his eyes, “why does he have one?”

“Apparently it’s a life debt thing, he saved her during the battle at Hogwarts, and now she’s like beholden to his family line forever or something. Hermione hates it.”

Snape honest to god chuckles, and gets back to his food. It takes Harry far too long to process the sound but eventually he too gets back to eating.

“How are we supposed to tell Robards what’s up?” Harry asks, after gathering the courage to disturb the relative peace in the tiny space. He’s sitting on the chair that they decided to Conjure so they’ll at least both have somewhere to sit that isn’t the bed.

“We’re not. We’re not to contact anyone unless we have caught them or are in desperate need for back-up. In which case we’ll use a Patronus, as I hope you’ll remember from training.”

“Thanks Snape,” Harry drawls before he can stop himself, “but I think I recall protocol I’ve been using for a good five years without issue now.”

To his surprise Snape doesn’t explode, doesn’t yell, just leans back in his chair, “indeed? Next you’ll tell me you’ve somehow managed to learn how to read.”

It’s. Funny? Harry laughs, kind of surprised at himself. He says a little prayer that they’ll manage to not yell the whole time they’re stuck here together. Harry really does not like yelling.

Snape takes the first shift that night, but Harry can’t manage to fall asleep at all. It feels like the air is crackling, like his whole body is itchy, like Snape is a figment of his imagination and the most real thing in the world at the same time. When Snape’s wand ticks against the table, he’s out of the bed so fast it scares Snape.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

“Obviously,” Snape answers, and he disappears into the tiny bathroom to change.

Harry spends the next few hours looking out the window. At seven in the morning exactly Snape unfolds his long legs onto the floor. “Did you sleep at all?” Harry asks, careful in the quiet before-dawn darkness.

“I don’t think I did,” Snape says, and he stretches out before going to take a shower.

They spend the whole day trying to get used to being so close to another person and it reminds Harry uncomfortably of the tent. Especially the cold. The sense of endlessness. At least they have enough food this time.

“Can I try this?” Harry asks around lunch time, eyeing the soup Snape’s warmed up.

“It has vegetables,” Snape warns him, but he does pour him a bowl. Harry grins at him as he twitches for his wand but ends up setting the bowls down on the table by hand.

“Takes getting used to, doesn’t it?” Harry draws one of the bowls closer and dips in some bread. “Merlin, this is great.”

“Cooking is just brewing without explosives, Mr. Potter,” Snape tells him, but it sounds more amused than angry.

“Nah,” Harry promises, taking a whole spoonful of the savoury courgette soup. “There’s talent, and feeling, and love.”

“All extremely important aspects of following a recipe.”

“I’ll show you,” Harry decides, “we’ll ask Winky for ingredients and get some cooking done. This stove is perfectly fine.”

“Shame it provides very little heat to the room.”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles, and he gets back to eating. They end up deciding on a list of things they’ll need for cooking and baking and Winky comes through in the best way, with tons of fruits and vegetables as well as the set of cooking utensils that Harry remembers from camping.

Harry takes the first shift that night, watching Snape lie too still to not be faking it. Harry ends up having to pace around the little room to keep himself awake and thinks every time he looks at Snape not-sleeping that it will become a problem very soon if they don’t figure out a way to sleep.

When they change shifts, Harry changes his clothes as quickly as he can, as close to the fire as he can, just to avoid freezing, and he lies down in the still-warm bed. It smells like Snape somehow, although when he might’ve picked up what Snape smells like, he can’t remember. Not before he falls asleep, at any rate.

He wakes up from being jostled and slaps his hand over his mouth immediately, knowing from the feeling in his throat that he was screaming. Something about running from Death Eaters, in a cold dreary town, new ones popping up around every corner.

“I’m sorry,” he pants, and Snape looks at him with thoughtful black eyes. It can’t have been long since he went to sleep.

“This won’t do at all.”

“I’ll set Silencing Charms,” Harry offers, “I normally do, must’ve been very tired to have forgotten.”

“If you think I’m going to sit three feet away from you and watch you scream, silently or not, you are more wrong than you usually are.” Snape tosses him his invisibility cloak ( where had he found that?) and his boots, as well as a sweater and warm socks. The sweater definitely isn’t his and he’s not sure about the socks, but he puts it all on and follows Snape out into the raging snow.

“What are we doing?”

Snape Disillusions himself, checks that the light of the fire isn’t coming through the windows, and starts off in the direction of the house. “The snow means that even if they do come out tomorrow, they are unlikely to notice our footsteps.” His voice is loud and Harry wants to tell him to be quieter, but if he can barely hear Snape from this close by, surely they’re safe enough.

“Which means?”

“Now is the perfect time to set up Monitoring Charms. They went to bed hours ago, and the storm will interfere with magic detection spells.”

Snape tries to teach Harry the spells for warding. Harry remembers them all though, bites down on his lip to avoid telling Snape that this situation is enough to bring back all his memories of being cold and hungry for six months straight. No need to add fighting to the general camping-trip-from-hell atmosphere, thank you very much. It’s unlikely that he’ll sleep again tonight anyway, so he follows Snape around the property, chanting with him the whole time. 

It takes almost four hours, and by the time they get back to the guardhouse Harry is sorer and colder than he’s ever been. He manages only to kick off his boots and throw his cloak on the ground before he sees Snape reappear, looking as exhausted as he feels.

“We’ll both sleep,” Snape decides, and Harry is too tired to protest. He slumps down into the bed and is out like a light before Snape even has his shoes off.

He doesn’t wake up until the sun is a good way above the horizon, and realizes with a start that he’s cuddled up with Snape in the middle of the bed, and that he didn’t have any more nightmares. On the table is a stack of notes and a bottle of Firewhiskey, and Harry wriggles his way out from between Snape’s arms, onto the cold floor. The notes are from Robards and the other Aurors on the team, the last reports about the smuggling business before they all leave the office to go be with their families.

“Anything for me?” He hears Snape’s croaky voice behind him, and he turns around to see jet-black eyes and hair and not much else sticking out from the blankets.

“A bottle of fancy Firewhiskey that says ‘my apologies’,” Harry says, handing Snape the bottle.

“Sodding Malfoy,” Snape complains, turning the bottle to read the label. “I took his shift, that’s why you’re stuck with me.”

“His kid was born this summer right?” Harry gets the kettle going.

“He was,” Snape’s sitting in the bed now, wearing a big sailor sweater and Muggle joggers. “I could have been on holiday enjoying myself were it not for my penchant for saving your asses.”

“With your soup,” Harry can’t help but flap out, and Snape glares at him.

“Clearly I was planning on spending Christmas holed up in my cave consuming my caloric intake through a straw.”

“What were you planning?” It’s dangerous terrain, personal talk, but they’ve spent enough time ignoring each other and they have another four days at least to go.

“I spend Christmas with friends,” Snape gets some food out and they set the table together. “We’ve rented a house by the sea, Christmas to New Year, I’m hoping this’ll be over soon and I can stay a few days at least.”

Friends. Harry tries not to look too surprised. “The auction is supposed to be on Boxing Day, so it should be possible, right?”

Snape looks amused enough that he must know what Harry wanted to ask. He doesn’t answer though, and they finish their meal in silence.

After breakfast Harry gets back to the stack of paperwork he’d brought along to at least feel useful while he’s stuck babysitting some criminals, and Snape gets back to his book.

Harry can’t think about anything other than Snape’s Christmas plans, however. As far as he knows Snape has one friend, he sees them in the Ministry canteen sometimes. A big burly man that must work at Sports and Games since he usually gets out of the elevator on that floor. Not that Harry’s been paying attention.

“This is even more boring with the monitoring charms,” Harry complains as he’s stretching, when he’s done sitting around overthinking. He shakes it loose. “What are you up to?” 

“Reading,” Snape says distractedly, turning another page, “it’s where you take books and actually enjoy looking at those black squiggles on the pages.”

“Don’t even have to look at me to insult me,” Harry laughs, and he sets up a cutting board to start on the scallions.

“What are we eating?”

“Dumplings,” Harry decides, looking at everything they have. “You can make the dough if you want to help.”

“How will we compare who is better if I help?

Harry is really laughing now, and Snape’s eyes are crinkling too, “lazy sod. Just take notes on how the master works then if you can’t be arsed to be useful.”

Snape drags his chair over and looks on curiously as Harry makes first the filling, then the dough, and sets both to rest on the table.

“I’d put them in the fridge normally,” he explains as he’s washing up. “But it’s cold enough in here. In an hour or so we can start making the dumplings.”

Snape of course insists on keeping their batches separate so that they can compare, and ends up making really beautiful dumplings, with many little folds, which he then teaches to Harry while they eat the ones Harry’s made.

“Mine are better,” Snape says when Harry puts the first one from Snape’s pile onto a plate.

“Try it first, will you?” Harry sighs as he says it, but he’s having a remarkably good time.

They do try them, and Harry still thinks it matters very little, but when Snape leans over his shoulder to correct his dumpling folding again, he feels like he won something.

They’re still full from having eaten about a hundred dumplings each by dinnertime so Snape shows Harry how to make a simple tomato soup with egg. It’s sour and delicious and just filling enough.

“You have to do something complicated tomorrow,” Harry decides when he’s done eating. “This took like twenty minutes and I slaved away for hours.”

“ _ Slaved away _ ,” Snape sneers, “absolutely not. My specialty is in the quick and uncomplicated.”

“We should make a new list,” Harry decides, rolling his eyes already.

“Yeast,” Snape offers. “I’ll make bread.”

“What kind of flower will you want for that?”

“Do you think Winky can get us rye?” Snape leans forward to look at the list and sees exactly the kind of face Harry is making. “Oh I’m definitely doing it now,” he promises, taking the quill away from Harry to write down five kinds of seeds as well.

“Nutella,” Harry urges, “write Nutella.”

“What else, young master Potter,” Snape is still writing things like tomatoes and aubergines down, “ice cream? A chocolate orange?”

Harry laughs, “and roller skates for Christmas, please.”

Snape shoots him a look that has him immobile, then smiles just a little. But Harry’s mood has already shifted. He’s looking forward to crawling back into bed. Wants a low fire and whispering and warmth. Which reminds him.

“If we don’t have to stand guard anymore,” he starts, plucking at his borrowed sweater a little. “Will we both just sleep at the same time?”

Snape stands up jerkily to get the kettle and fill it up for tea again, and his voice is low when he speaks again. “If that is a problem we could – ”

“No,” Harry interrupts him to say. “Not at all.” He sees Snape fuss with the kettle, notices his shoulders up by his ears and the tension in his back, and decides to test a theory. “I didn’t mind at all, I slept well.”

Snape immediately relaxes, and Harry doesn’t bring it up again. He also doesn’t mention that Snape managed to learn how to make tea exactly how Harry likes it in two days.

That night Harry wakes up three times. The first time when Snape finally joins him, the second time when all the tea he’s been drinking forces him out of bed, and the third time when he’s having a perfectly lovely dream and suddenly professor Snape hisses in his ear. “Mr Potter!”

“Fuck. What?” Harry sits up and almost elbows Snape in the face in his shock. “What the fuck happened?”

“The lights are on, they are moving around.”

They both get their clothes on as fast as they can and leave the house, huddled together under the Invisibility Cloak. The sky is only just starting to pale at the edges, it’s far too early for them to be going anywhere. They walk up to the gates together, mindful of the wards that might alert the smugglers to their presence, and stand as close together as they can to keep warm.

“What do you think happened?” Harry whispers, and Snape steps just a little bit closer. He’s shivering and Harry conjures a little bluebell flame in a jar to help keep their hands warm.

“They’re supposed to be smuggling jobberknoll feathers right?” Snape hisses, “perhaps something went wrong?”

That’s when they hear it. One long blood-curdling scream. Harry feels the hairs on his arms rise and all his instincts warn him of danger. He can’t breathe until Snape wraps an arm around him and pulls him against his chest.

“Was that your first time?” He asks, gentle and quiet.

Harry can only nod. He’s not sure what they’re talking about, but whatever the hell that was, it was his first.

“Every sound it’s ever heard. Let’s hope its impending death is what woke the smugglers up.” He tugs on Harry’s arm a little and ends up taking his hand. Harry feels numb, his ears still echoing despite the fact that the house is pretty far away from them. He can’t imagine what it must be like to stand next to a jobberknoll as it’s dying. “Let’s get you warm.”

Harry frowns at that, but he lets himself get pulled away, “you’re cold too.”

“I am,” Snape admits, and he flashes Harry a grin. Doesn’t let go.

Back at the guardhouse they both try to fall asleep again, slowing their breathing in the hope it’ll slow their thoughts. Sleep doesn’t come though, instead they just hang on to each other while the sun rises slowly over the snowy hills all around, lighting the world up with glitter.

The rest of the day is awkward, off kilter. They cook lunch together (lasagne) and have soup for dinner with the bread Snape made. It’s delicious, even without Nutella, but all Harry can think about is the way Snape’s muscles had moved while he’d been kneading it. How it smelled when Snape showed Harry how it was supposed to feel. After dinner he tries to work on his paperwork a bit more, the last of it, but he’s shivering so much that he keeps dropping his pen. Eventually Snape throws him a sweater from the big black bag that still holds all their stuff. Harry fails to catch it because he’s cold and ends up knocking over the inkwell.

“Clumsy,” Snape complains, pushing Harry out of the way to clean up and Harry pushes right back.

“Could have just warned me!” He fishes sopping parchment out of the puddle, tries to vanish the wet ink only.

“Be quiet,” Snape says, and when Harry tries to tell him where he can go fuck off to, he silences him with a wandless spell. He mutters for a couple of seconds while Harry gasps for air in his anger, trying to remember how to pull off a finite without words or a wand, and waves his wand in a complicated pattern. “ _ Reciproco Atramento _ ,” he says, confidence in his voice.

It works, the ink flows back into the well, everything Harry has written is still there, still legible. “Fuck.” Harry says, only startling a little at the sound of his own voice.

“Glad that worked,” Snape says, undeniably smug but Harry feels his skin prickle. He pulls out a little notebook from a pocket and writes down a spell movement chart. Seems genuinely surprised when Harry slaps the little book out of his hands. It falls onto the table with a little  _ flap _ noise.

“Don’t  _ ever _ ,” Harry bites out. “Don’t  _ ever  _ silence me again.”

“You know how to reverse it,” Snape says, like that makes it alright. He still looks confused.

“I am telling you not to do it again!” Harry is angry enough now that he feels warm, and he throws the sweater back into the corner. Barges out of the room into the little bathroom and almost cries when the cup they keep their toothbrushes in shatters on the floor. A quick Reparo has it back in order and Harry brushes his teeth, angry at the magic they weren’t supposed to be using. What if this blows their cover? Why can’t Snape ever treat him like an adult? Harry hadn’t even asked for help and still he was overruled! He’s still angry when he barges out of the bathroom again, stubs his toe against the corner of his bed and manages not to cry for just long enough to get under the covers and throw up a quiet little bubble. His favourite way of preventing people from hearing his nightmares, it blocks sounds both ways. He tries to stop the angry tears coming and isn’t quite done yet when Snape joins him under his bubble. He tries to hold his breath so Snape won’t hear, then tries to breathe through his mouth, but eventually he has to sniffle. Immediately Snape comes closer and wraps his arms around Harry, pulls him in. Has one warm hand wrapped around his head, the other on his back. Harry dissolves the quiet bubble around them and the creaking of the house, the crackling of the fire, it all helps.

“Why are you only nice to me in the dark?” Harry whispers finally.

“You forget who I am when you can’t see me.” His voice is a low rumble but it isn’t true and Harry wrinkles his nose trying to understand where that might’ve come from.

“No. I don’t forget who you are.” Maybe Snape just doesn’t hate him when he can’t see him? “Do you?”

“No.”

“I’m reminded of it sometimes,” Harry admits. “When I look at you and suddenly I remember just how long we’ve known each other.”

Snape takes a deep breath, but he doesn’t say anything else, and Harry just lies there thinking. It smells of woodfire and sleep between them. Why would Snape think that he forgets who he is? Like Harry could ever forget who that voice belongs to, whose steady hands are on his back.

“Do you know why I was upset earlier?” He asks finally, because sometimes he doesn’t know why people are upset and he appreciates it when they explain.

“Not really,” Snape admits, quiet as anything.

“I take great pride in being able to take care of myself,” Harry says, “because I hate feeling excluded or incompetent. I hate that you think of me like I’m a child.”

“I don’t think you’re a child.” He sounds even more confused now, Harry can imagine the frown that must be on his face.

“Unable to handle my own messes then.”

Snape’s quiet, but then he nods. Harry’s just about to settle in to sleep when Snape nods again. “I think I get it. I’m sorry, I wanted to fix it and I knew I had to be fast, but I should have explained what I was doing.”

It’s the most honest and sincere apology Harry’s ever gotten and the only thing he can do is lean in through the dark, cup Snape’s face to guide his way, and kiss his lips. He jerks away again immediately, realising what he’s done. “I’m – sorry. I should have just, I – I accept your apology. Thank you.”

Snape leans in and kisses him back, shy and quick, but at least it answers the question Harry should’ve asked first so Harry kisses him again. He gets pushed onto his back and cold fingers find skin under two sweaters and his shirt. Snape’s thumbs sweep over his stomach until Harry is so hard he feels like he might start crying again, and then long fingers slide into his pyjama trousers, grabbing onto his arse before pushing them down slowly. “Yeah,” Harry encourages. “That’s good.”

Snape hums into his mouth and pushes his pyjama trousers down further, so Harry’s cock is free, then he kneels between Harry’s legs and folds down, making sure the covers stay over them both as much as possible. Harry feels hot though, so he pulls his clothes up a bit to expose his stomach. He sweeps over his own skin with fingertips while Snape looks at him, then claws at his legs. Harry lets his hands touch Snape’s face, push his hair behind his ears, trace his cheekbones and jaw, until Snape leans down further and wraps his mouth around Harry’s cock.

“Oh that’s good,” Harry sighs, hips bucking into the wet heat. Snape moves with him easily. “You’ve done that before,” Harry babbles, “that’s amazing.” The sweeps of Snape’s tongue, the teasing of his fingers over Harry’s balls, it all feels spectacular, and Harry tells him. “That’s, yes, right there. Oh, oh that’s so good.” When he feels a hesitant press behind his balls he trails his fingers through Snape’s hair, “do it, anywhere, I trust you.” Snape hums a little and pushes one of his fingers into Harry, not too far. The stretch is fantastic, and Harry plays with Snape’s hair some more, “don’t worry about hurting me, it’s all good. I’m very close.”

Snape sucks harder at that and Harry has to hold onto the mattress so he doesn’t hurt him. “I’ll come,” he says, “careful. If you don’t want too...” Snape shakes his head quickly, then sucks Harry down deeper, pushes his finger in and right  _ there _ and Harry arches off the bed as he comes, long and hard, down Snape’s hot wet throat. He feels Snape swallow, catches his hands and pulls him up the bed. Kisses him deep and hard. He rolls them both over and now the light of the dying fire catches Snape’s face. His eyes are closed tight, he looks like he’s in pain.

“Hey,” Harry hushes him, “hey, look at me. Are you alright?”

Snape keeps his eyes firmly closed but he nods, so Harry kisses him, tender and fond, and slips his hand into Snape’s pyjama trousers, petting the skin over his hip, then sliding back to knead at his arse. Slowly Snape starts to kiss back, and Harry breaks away just a little to whisper: “you need to tell me, if you’re not happy with something I’m doing. Just let me know, alright?”

Snape nods again and lets Harry roll him onto his back. Harry pushes up Snape’s sweater to find three more layers. When he’s pushed all of those up he can see Snape’s pale skin in the orange firelight. There’s a trail of black hair and Harry kisses all of it. Marvelling at the smell of Snape’s skin, the warmth of his body. Being allowed to touch at all.

“Good?” He asks, and Snape’s long finger touching the corner of his jaw, just under his ear, feels like a yes. He leans away anyway, and sees Snape nod. Snape’s pyjama trousers have a string and several buttons for some reason, but when he opens them Snape’s cock lies hot and heavy to the side. Harry pushes his nose into the dense pubic hair, smells man and  _ Snape, _ and licks over his balls just once. Watches the skin respond. “Gorgeous,” he whispers, and Snape shivers. “You smell fantastic,” he promises, still pushing his nose through thatchy curls, taking a moment to kiss soft warm skin here and there. “Taste good too,” he decides, after sucking briefly on the head of Snape’s now very hard cock. Snape whines, just a little, and Harry places a hand on his stomach. “Love how you sound. Tell me what you want.”

He bends back down to suck on Snape’s cock more, playing with the foreskin and enjoying the taste of eager cock, and Snape’s hips buck hesitantly. “That’s good,” Snape whispers, “all of it.”

Harry sneaks his hands up under the layers of clothes to pinch at Snape’s nipples a bit and he whines again. Harry opens his jaw wider to sink down Snape’s cock further. Tightens his lips. Snape bucks and groans and an obscene slurping noise has both of their eyes fly open. They look at each other and smile, Snape touches Harry’s face, and Harry sucks harder, moves his head up and down.

“I’ll be...” Snape whispers, “soon. If you’d rather not.”

Harry sits up a little, Snape’s cock still leaning against his bottom lip. “Come in my mouth,” he whispers back, and he bends down again. Holds Snape’s hips, moves with him as Snape gets close then twitches and comes, the most beautiful expression of tension, then relief on his face. Harry licks him clean, closes the pyjama trousers again, and wraps them both in the duvet, lying fully on top of Snape this time. The arms around his waist that hold him in place make him feel safe, and he’s out like a light.

The next morning he wakes up alone. Snape is pacing through the small room and it looks like he moved the table to get more steps between turns. It makes Harry smile.

“Pass me my tea?” He asks, and Snape looks up at him, standing still in the middle of space. He shivers as if the lack of moving back and forth has made him feel the cold. Maybe something’s wrong? “If you’d rather we pretend that we didn’t...”

“No.” Snape interrupts him, and he does bring him the tea. “That won’t be necessary.”

“What’s up, then?” Harry pats the bed and Snape sits down, about as far away from Harry as he can go without falling off.

“I’m not sure whether to regret last night,” Snape manages finally, long hands folded around a steaming mug of his own.

“What are your pros and cons?” Harry asks and Snape shoots him a Look. It’s the same thing Robards always asks when they have to discuss their decision-making process. He probably picked it up at some leadership course back in the 80s.

“We’re going to spend four more days here,” Snape sighs eventually, humouring Harry, “we are unlikely to leave this structure standing if we tear into each other.”

Harry can’t deny that, “it really is a shame we’re both pretty good at wandless magic.”

“I’m pretty good,” Snape rolls his eyes. “I seem to remember you struggling with a  _ Finite _ .”

“Asshole,” Harry kicks at him, but his legs are still under the blankets so the effect is a bit ruined. He makes Snape’s tea go all the way cold with a thought and the glare he gets for his efforts has him giggling.

“There’s scones in the oven,” Snape says when they’ve both been quiet for a while. And that’s the end of that conversation. 

Mostly because not long after they have their breakfast something goes on in the mansion, something that involves flashes of light and plenty of shouting, and Harry and Snape spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what is going on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is!! Thank you for reading and commenting <3

“I can’t believe they were all that stressed about one of their guests dropping out.”

“Let’s hope it means the black market isn’t flourishing as much as we feared it would be,” Snape sighs. They’re in bed together. It’s dark but not too late, the day was cold and exhausting enough that neither of them felt like doing anything else after the smugglers had finally settled down.

“I don’t regret last night,” Harry decides finally. “I know we might get cabin fever, but I really enjoyed it and I’d like to do it again.”

He feels Snape nod and roll onto his side. “Can I see your feet?”

Harry pauses for a second, then looks up to see if he’s being made fun of. Snape looks entirely serious. “Yeah. If you want?” He kicks the duvet down a little so he can reach down for his socks. “Why? Is it a kink thing?”

Snape looks at him, deep black eyes. “I just think they might be beautiful.” He shrugs a little. “You’re so hairy all over, even the backs of your hands. I want to see.”

Harry’s not one to be fussy about having any part of his body appreciated so he just kicks the blankets away even more and takes off his socks. He has to shuffle around on the bed a bit and says a little prayer for the last guard that stayed here. They must’ve been built like Hagrid for the bed to be this large. “There you go.”

Snape sits up and carefully holds one of Harry’s feet, stroking his long fingers up and down the arch, and over the toes. He surprises Harry by kissing his ankle, but Harry doesn’t pull away. The attention is nice.

“Alright?” He asks, and Snape looks up. He looks amused.

“You talk a lot, don’t you?”

Harry snorts, “can’t believe it took you this long to notice. I like talking during sex. Makes it easier to stick to what you both want and check in.”

“Gryffindors,” Snape licks under Harry’s foot and it tickles so much Harry has to clamp down on all his muscles to avoid kicking Snape in the face. “Thank you for not breaking my nose,” he laughs, noticing how Harry twitched. “I’m not sure it’d survive another go.”

Harry pulls his leg fully around now and crawls closer, trails his fingers over Snape’s face. “I like your nose,” he decides finally.

“Alright,” Snape drawls and he clearly doesn’t believe Harry. “Do you have any tattoos?”

“Yeah,” Harry takes off his sweater and t-shirt. “Look.” He has a tiny broomstick that zooms back and forth under one of his collarbones. “Do you?”

Snape bites on his lower lip and Harry picks up his left arm. Peels back the sweater to see the pale grey mark.

“Any you like?” He corrects himself, lightly touching the mark. Snape doesn’t pull away but he looks like he’s hurting when he shakes no. He traces Snape’s ear instead. “Can I take your clothes off?”

Snape’s eyes fly open. His breath leaves him in a soft sigh when he sees Harry’s face, probably looking the kind of earnest that has gotten him laughed at before. “You meant that. You’re gorgeous and you meant that.”

Harry can’t help but flush red all the way, ducking his head in pleasure. “There you go again, being nice to me in the dark.”

“Of course I’m nice to you,” Snape promises, sitting up to take his sweaters off. Both of them in one go. “You’re so handsome, and you do have beautiful feet, and you make the most wonderful noises when you’re aroused.”

Harry gets even more red and covers his face in an attempt to hide his cheeks.

“Not good?”

“No,” he looks up and finds Snape the picture of confusion all over again, although now he’s mostly naked too. “No, it is just so unexpected to have you of all people compliment me.”

“Well,” Snape pulls him in and wraps long arms around him. “You’re also an extremely capable Auror, and an exceptionally kind person. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re always the first one to make sure victims are alright. That people aren’t being talked over in meetings.”

It’s all too much, and Harry buries his face against Snape’s chest, then kisses his way down to his stomach. Soft warm skin, smelling like Snape. Some part of his brain is trying to process that Snape pays attention to him, watches him, and still wants him. The rest is getting interested enough in the prospect of sex that it wants nudity and now. He tugs Snape’s joggers and pants off, then makes his way out of his own clothes.

“Is this what you want?” Snape whispers at him, when they’re both naked and pressed together and covered by the duvet just because it’s cold out. “To hear what I think of you? What you do to me?”

“Yes,” Harry groans into his mouth, kissing him wetly. “Please, yes.” He pushes his hips down and feels hairs tickle, hard cocks, warm bodies.

“Kiss my ear?” Snape asks, soft and slow like it’s just a suggestion. Harry latches on immediately, kissing the shell before licking into it, sucking on the lobe. Snape thrashes underneath him, pants and cries. “Oh that’s good, fuck you’re too good at that, oh,” Snape cries, and his hard cock pushes against Harry over and over, “Harry oh please, oh it’s too good, your tongue.”

He licks into Snape’s ear again and feels him try to catch his breath and fail, sneaks a hand between their bodies because if Snape can come from having his ear licked he’ll make it happen. He squeezes his cock and feels more than hears the groan being ripped out of Snape’s throat, then leans back from his ear. With soft hot puffs of air he has Snape moving his head back and forth, between wanting more and being overstimulated. He doesn’t move his hand, just holds it steady, then moves around to the other ear. He starts slowly again, licking around the shell, sucking on the earlobe, then licking closer and closer until Snape is again crying and twisting.

“If you’d like I could do that to your anus next,” he whispers and he feels Snape’s whole body twitch as he starts to come. Licks him through it. Holds him tight.

“Ah,” Snape pants, trying to talk. “Ah.” He licks his lips, completely undone. Harry leans away a little to look at his face and finds wet black eyes, tear tracks down his temples. He kisses them away.

“Alright?” Harry asks, and Snape nods. Still overcome.

“Would you?” He manages, finally, “really?”

“Lick your arse?” Harry feels his whole face break open. Obviously he would. Of course. “Yeah. Now?”

“No,” Snape shakes his head and grins back, “no I’d die.”

Harry laughs and kisses him, wrapping both hands around his face. He’s rather enjoying lying there but casts a Scourgify so they don’t end up stuck together.

Snape startles and masks it with a huff, “so that you can do wandlessly?”

“What are you really thinking?” Harry keeps kissing him, resettling so his cock is against Snape’s hip rather than stabbing him in the stomach.

“Don’t like Scourgify.” And Harry really should have known that, but he tries to keep it off his face. No need to remind either of them of that right now. “What do you want?” Snape asks, husky and low. It makes Harry’s spine tingle.

“Whatever you want.” Harry says, but it sounds like a rather squeaky question.

“Be a good boy,” Snape urges, “tell me in as much detail as you can exactly what you wish for right now.”

“Ehm,” Harry tries. Clears his throat. “Ehm I want to be on my back. And for you to... hold my thighs. And. Maybe bite me? No blood, but. I like.”

“What do you like?” Snape whispers.

“Oh the talking,” Harry whines, “I love the talking.”

“What else?”

“Bruises. Normally, but - but not tonight. I’m so sensitive.”

Snape rolls him onto his back and wraps his legs around his waist. Cradles his head with one hand, and kisses his way up his neck. “What else?”

“Kissing.” Harry pants, his eyes tight and shut, “and talking. And holding.”

“Should I not touch your cock?” Snape asks and Harry’s eyes fly open.

“Oh. Yes.” He feels himself blush again. “At the end only maybe. When I ask for it?”

“Oh Harry,” Snape groans, and Harry nearly cries at the feeling of hot breath on sensitive aching skin. “I’ll make you beg.”

Snape uses his height, kneeling around Harry, pushing his legs up, keeping them around his waist. He whispers in his ear about  _ good boy  _ and  _ doing so well _ and strokes his skin gently and gentler. Harry whimpers and moans, pinned to the bed by Snape, surrounded by Snape, and moves his hips even though there is nothing to move against, no friction for release.

“Please,” he whispers, “it feels so good.”

“Please what?” Snape whispers back and Harry is at a complete loss for words, enjoying the gentle scratching against his skin, rolling his head back, arching up. “What do you need?”

Harry needs to come, he feels it build in his stomach, pulls Snape in tighter with his legs in an effort to get to rut against his stomach, but Snape won’t give so he ends up lifting his own hips up. He can’t get the angle right and whines in frustration as Snape bites along the edge of his shoulder, up his neck, along his jaw, and back down the other side. 

“Please I want to come,” Harry whispers. Whines. Snape shuffles around and somehow managed to suck him down and Harry comes and comes. No time for warning, just clenching and shouting and then quiet.

Soft petting hands, warm skin. Nails trailing through the hair on his back. Shivers.

“Sorry,” Snape whispers.

“Good shivers,” Harry promises, and the soft scratching starts up again. He falls asleep like that, feeling pinned down and safe.

The next morning Harry wakes up wrapped up in Snape’s arms and promptly decides he’ll never leave. He falls sort of asleep again and blinks awake into his pillow when he feels he’s being stared at.

“You can if you want,” he mumbles, and Snape freezes.

“What?”

“Touch,” Harry explains, settling deeper into the mattress. “You can touch me if you want.”

Careful cold fingers settle on his back, and he shivers but moves closer. “How did you know?” Harry breathes in deep. How had he known?

“Magic, I guess,” he wants to go back to sleep more than he wants to figure it out. Snape groans and Harry can’t help but laugh. “Sorry.”

Snape’s hand flattens out and he trails up and down Harry’s spine. It feels like magic.

When they finally get up, the sun is out. The light streaming in through dirty windows makes the whole room seem alive. When Harry peeks out the window, the snow shines like it’s gold. The low light and the shimmer of the dust in the room bathe Snape in the most flattering possible light. His skin seems like pale ivory, his hair deep black. His eyes are almost brown when he looks directly into the light, and their steaming mugs of tea stain his cheeks pink. Harry wants to touch, he feels it like the jerking sensation of a Portkey, can barely stop himself from reaching out to trace an elegant eyebrow. When they cook lunch, together this time, the way Snape slices through the vegetables shifts the light on his hands and makes all the little scars stand out. The tension rises and it makes Harry’s stomach feel heavy.

“You’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry,” Harry’s almost panting. “Your hands.”

Snape picks his hand up, wet tomato juice everywhere, and looks at both sides of his pale slim hand. “Why?”

Harry takes the hand, traces the little scars and looks up into deep jet eyes. It’s too much, a flood of information he can’t process, and he drops Snape’s hand.

“I’ll shower.” He steps back, shakes his head to clear it and relishes in the cold of the little bathroom.

When he gets out again, their lunch is ready and Snape has retreated all the way. His back is straight, his eyes are narrow, and besides one deep sigh as Harry gets back into the room, he makes no sounds at all. The tense silence takes up so much space that it gets hard to breathe after a while, and Harry feels the agitation crawl under his skin. He can’t focus on anything and stands up a bit abruptly, jostling the table. “Sorry.”

Snape just looks up at him and Harry wants to reach out. He feels jittery and overwarm.

“I’ll go for a walk.”

Snape’s shoulder twitches like it hurts, but he doesn’t say anything, just stares as Harry puts as many clothes on as he can and stomps out. The sun is setting already, they’re so far North. He has the intense urge to scream and remembers just on time why he shouldn’t. Which reminds him that he should be covering his tracks. He stops dead, and turns around to see their little guardhouse shimmering behind the wards, a very clear footpath going between him and the front door. Snape a black shadow blocking the light, so close to the window he must be touching it. Snape seems to notice him and he jerks back, and Harry spells his footsteps invisible in the snow.

When he comes back, maybe two hours later, the little house looks even more welcoming. Orange light shining out, the chimney steaming. The stars above add to the picturesque view, and Harry thinks for a moment how odd it’ll be to step into the warmth to be met with metaphorical cold.

It’s not cold inside. It smells like rosemary and garlic. Wine and butter and tomato.

“Ah,” Snape’s surprise is scratchy and he clears his throat. “Mh.”

“Hey,” Harry tries, leaving his shoes by the door and getting out of the wet trousers. “I’m sorry for leaving like that.” He feels his cheeks heat and knows it’s not from the temperature change.

“I made pasta,” is all Snape says, but he lets Harry lean in to try the sauce. “We can’t drink wine of course,” he says, so low Harry has to strain to hear him. “But I added some to the sauce, the alcohol will have evaporated.”

“I’d kill for some Firewhiskey,” Harry groans, and as one they turn to look at the bottle that is on the windowsill. Malfoy’s note still on there. “Bloody criminals.”

“Ruining our Christmas plans wasn’t enough?”

Harry turns to look at Snape again and feels with absolute conviction that there’s nowhere he’d rather be right now. Even if it’s awkward. “I think,” he’s not sure how to explain this. “I think – I’m having a much better time than I thought I would be.”

“A glowing recommendation by Harry Potter,” Snape drawls.

“Merlin,” Harry drops into the chair, warm in clean, dry clothes. If only it didn’t feel so tense. He rubs his face, “I’m sorry. What I mean to say is – I like you.”

“Pardon?” He hears, and he realizes that he mumbled that into his hands and Snape probably didn’t hear anything. He sits up, cheeks on fire, and tries again. “I like you. I like spending time with you.”

“But?” Snape looks very suspicious, like the punchline could be coming any moment and Harry’s cheeks are glowing so much it’s uncomfortable.

“But I could use a drink, dammit.” Relationships are hard enough sober and also –  _ Snape _ . “I want to do something easy, something fun, this pressure is intense.”

Snape narrows his eyes further and stands up, and Harry just prays he’s not about the be hexed into silence. Snape probably has better things to do than listening to Harry be incompetent. When he turns around though, he’s holding two little vials, filled with the unmistakable light blue Sober Up.

“You brought a hangover potion?”

“They work for all sorts of headaches,” Snape walks around the little room, sets out the bottle of whiskey, two glasses, and the little vials to the side. “And you, Mr Potter, are a headache.”

“Harry,” Harry corrects him, far too excited to be upset. “Do you want to play Never Have I Ever?”

Snape shoots him a look that Harry has seen only once before, when he accidentally stepped on some slimeberry someone had dropped in class and it exploded all over his shoes.

“Alright, that’s a no then,” he tries on a smile and to his surprise, gets a little twitch of Snape’s mouth back. Big win, that is. “Two truths and a lie?”

“Fine,” Snape grumbles, but he gets them both a plate of pasta ‘you’ll need to eat if you’re planning on keeping up with me’. Harry tries to explain the rules and gets shushed by Snape. “I’m a Slytherin, Potter, we know how to drink.”

“Alright,” Harry says, suddenly nervous. “I’ll start.” He should have thought of something over dinner, it would have been easy to. “Ehm.” Snape raises an eyebrow at him, then looks at the bottle wistfully.

“Fine,” Harry laughs, and he counts on his fingers. “I once set an ancient carpet on fire accidentally, I didn’t learn how to read until I was eight, and my favourite fruit is mango.”

“Too easy,” Snape complains, pouring Harry a drink, “I was there when you cleaned out Grimmauld Place. You set the carpet on fire because it wouldn’t stop screaming, it was no accident.”

“Fine,” Harry takes his drink. “Your turn.”

“I’ve had sex with one-hundred and eighty-two people, I’m missing a toe on my left foot, my middle name is Barnaby.”

Harry can’t help the face he’s making, could Snape have slept with almost 200 people? When? How? “I need help,” he admits finally, when Snape looks far too smug.

“They’re all lies,” he says, like that’s normal, and he pours Harry another drink.

“The game is called two truths and a lie!” Harry points out, and Snape just looks more smug. “That was all lies and no truth!”

“You’re playing with a Slytherin now,” Snape throws back, and he pours himself a drink, sips it leisurely.

“I was almost put in Slytherin,” Harry says, deciding to make use of the set up. “That frog you found in your desk in third year was put there by me, and last year I drank a botched potion and had the hiccoughs for a week.”

“You’re going to have to work harder,” Snape takes another sip of his drink, he’s enjoying this far too much. “Pick at least one thing that I wasn’t there for, please. The frog was put there by Miles Tucker.”

“You should stop lying!” Harry complains, but he has his drink. It’s good whiskey. Snape just gives him a challenging little shrug.

“I joined the Death Eaters because they made me feel powerful, half of the scars I have were caused by my father, and some days I’d rather be dead than have you know as much about me as you do.”

“That got really dark,” Harry frowns. The whole mood has shifted, like the fire is less bright now too.

“It’s also all true,” Snape taps his glass against Harry’s and drinks. Long pale neck stark against his black hair.

“I don’t think anyone knows me as well as you do,” Harry mumbles.

Snape just nods, straight back, defiant eyes. “And you me.”

“Is that... is that why?” Harry asks, feeling the alcohol just enough to say what he might’ve otherwise just thought.

“No,” Snape is still proud, still defiant. Brave in his honesty. “No, this is me wanting you.”

“Good,” Harry tries to laugh and it sounds dry and fake. “I want you too.” He tries to look away but his eyes flicker over to Snape, who licks his lips, and then Harry’s whole body is alight.

Before he knows it, he’s lying on his back, on the bed, naked. Snape is hanging over him, naked too, and panting into his mouth while his hand fumbles with lube. “Are you alright?” He asks, and Harry nods.

“Let me,” he takes the lube and puts it directly onto Snape’s cock. It looks painfully hard even in the low light and the rawness of how  _ eager _ Severus is takes his breath away for just a second. Then he guides Snape to push in, and he does, and all Harry can do is arch his back and take it. He feels Snape’s cock breach him and in response his body sings. His skin tingles, his scalp is sensitive, he could cry. “Oh,” he says, at a loss for words.

“You’re doing so well,” Snape tells him, petting his hair, “look at you.” It’s exactly what he needed to hear, and Harry’s stomach clenches as his back twists, and suddenly he fits again. “Taking it all,” Snape murmurs, “and you’re loving it too, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Harry gasps, and then Snape starts to move. “Please.”

“Please what, darling?” Snape fucks thoroughly, deep and steady, “what do you need?”

“You,” Harry is barely keeping it together, far too fast. He holds his own cock flat against his stomach with the palm of his hand and lets Snape’s fucking move it. “Talk – to me?”

“Good,” Snape kisses his ear, gently and sweet, between strokes, “good, you’re doing very well.” The feeling of hot breath against his wet ear is almost too much and Harry whines and shifts. “You’re so beautiful,” Snape hisses, and Harry starts to come, clenching his thighs, pushing, then Snape’s hips stutters as he comes and Harry holds himself up just a bit longer before collapsing back onto the bed, exhausted and oddly thirsty.

Snape cleans him up, gets him tea, and when they’re leaning against the wall together, wrapped up in duvets, Harry lets his head fall onto Snape’s shoulder. He feels safe.

“The Weasleys are my family more than anyone, including my parents and Sirius,” he says, into the half-dark. “I like being told I’m good. I love your ass.”

“Was one of those a lie?” Snape asks, leaning his head onto Harry’s. He sounds like he might be smiling.

“No,” Harry grins. “No that was all true.”

“I thought you’d be marrying into the family,” Snape admits. “I also thought you’d quit being an Auror pretty fast, and I can’t think of a single thing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe.”

“Charlie is asexual,” Harry says, “I love Percy but we’d kill each other instantly, Gin and I are both far too gay and George... well. I think his grief would drown me.”

“But you were with Ginevra, no?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, “engaged even. I’m the one that broke it off, she was in love with Beth even then. I’ll quit being an Auror when Ron does, I owe that much to Molly. What was the third one?” He remembers as soon as he says it and turns around a bit for a quick kiss to Snape’s chin.

“Even thinking about the Weasleys gives me anxiety,” Snape tells him, only half-joking judging by his tone.

“We can do Easter with your family,” Harry jokes, “seeing how you have Christmas plans already.”

“We’re Jewish.” Snape flaps out, then: “What?”

Perhaps not the time to joke about being together forever. “If...” Harry can’t bring himself to take it back. “If you’d – if we’re still together then. I was joking. But I – wouldn’t force you to come to Sunday dinner if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“You’re extremely strange,” Snape mutters, but it sounds fond and he plays with Harry’s hair while he puts the tea mugs down next to the bed and cuddles them both up under the blankets.

Harry wakes up the next morning feeling warm and deeply comfortable. He’s wrapped up in Snape’s arms, and the gentle sniffling in his neck tells him Snape is awake. The erection poking his back helps too. He pushes back into it and Snape sits up. “Apologies.”

“Do I smell?” It’s too cold for a shower, but after the sex they had last night he sort of needs one.

“Yeah,” Snape sounds dreamy and a bit stuffy. “Like warmth, and something spicy. I’m not sure what it could be.” Which is not what Harry was expecting to hear at all.

“Fuck me,” he breaths, suddenly so turned on it hurts. He feels empty and  _ wants _ . Snape is still hard against his back, and they’re both naked, so he just lines up and pushes back and, “ah - ah.”

“Alright?” Snape asks him, shallow rolls of his hips, one hand on Harry’s stomach, “there’s no rush.” He kisses Harry’s ear, and Harry relaxes into him, breathes as Snape pushes in a little deeper, and out again. “What do you want?”

Harry twists his head for a real kiss, and sees naked desire in Snape’s eyes. “All of it,” he promises, “push me down, fuck me hard.”

Snape does as he’s told, first on their sides, pushing in harder and deeper every time, then he rolls Harry onto his stomach, making sure they don’t lose their connection as he follows. Harry spread his legs while Snape keeps fucking him, holding on to his hips and back, and Harry struggles to get his knees bent so Snape can fuck him properly, as deep as he wants him. When he manages they both groan at the same time, and Snape sneaks a hand around to pull on Harry’s still-sticky cock. It’s rough and messy and Harry comes before he has a chance to warn Snape, pushing off of the mattress with clawed fingers and an arching back, wanting more and less at the same time. Snape comes soon after, right as the stimulation is becoming painful, and pulls out when Harry winces.

“Sorry,” he says, but this is far worse. Snape soothes his skin with trailing hands over his arse but –

“No,” Harry whines, twisting, “I’m too – empty.” He feels hollow, wants more, wants to come again and again, Snape hard inside him. Snape’s fingertips move down, to touch sensitive skin, and then he sinks two fingers all the way in. “Oh,” Harry groans into the pillow. “That’s it.”

Without taking his fingers out, Snape lies down next to Harry, pulls one of his legs over his hips so he’s spread open. Harry breathes wetly into the hollow of Snape’s throat, and relaxes properly when Snape’s fingers move in and out a little, past each other. Just enough stimulation to feel full. Whole.

It takes a few hours, but eventually they’re both showered and clean, leaning over a pan while Harry tries to explain that you can smell the temperature of the oil.

“Did you hear that?” Snape says suddenly, standing up tall and nervous. Harry turns off the fire so he can listen. “Something is happening.”

What is happening is that the auction is starting. People are popping into existence all around, and Harry and Snape manage to knock two women who are having a far too in-depth conversation about muskrat toenails out. Because somehow Snape has Polyjuice prepared and ready to go, and before they know it they’re inside the house.

“Shall I send a Patronus to Robards?” Harry hisses, and Snape nods. Harry goes to the bathroom and sends his stag off quickly so it won’t be noticed, then finds the hall where the auction is happening. He looks around, and realizes he can’t find Snape. Trying to keep down his panic and look like he is right where he’s supposed to be, he walks around the room, greeting people who seem to recognize him with short nods. Snape is nowhere to be found. Harry is about to abort the mission entirely, when he realizes he would recognize the way that hand moves anywhere. He comes in closer and Snape grins at him through a stranger’s face, “darling, I was just telling these people about the many applications of muskrat toenails!”

“Excellent,” Harry coos, relieved beyond measure.

In the end they only have to keep up the game for a few minutes, before Ron kicks the door open.

“Spattergroit!” Harry shouts, while everyone around them is still staring at the three Aurors that are marching in, and Ron looks at him. Harry nods to Snape too, and Ron runs over to give them both a red sash.

“If you make even one movement,” Robards shouts, “I will have year head. Everyone that comes quietly and gives me useful information can expect to be home soon.”

Most people fall into line after that, holding their hands up to show they are wandless. Harry and Snape help lead them out to their colleagues outside, who will interrogate everyone. It’s going to be a long night for some of them.

Inside he can hear shouting and fighting, probably the smugglers trying to make off with the goods, and more than one person stares at Harry with their mouths open.

“Why are they staring at me?” Harry whispers to Snape, when he can’t take it anymore.

“Apparently the people we hid behind the rosebushes are important figures in the organization. I already had someone take them to the Ministry.”

Harry can’t help but laugh at that, and he keeps a grin on his face while they clean up a bit. When Snape warns him that they should go, he waves goodbye to Robards and Ron, and they walk back to the guardhouse together.

With every step they get closer, Harry feels the weight of this being the last time get heavier in his stomach. He tries to say something about it, and fails spectacularly. “Why do you think they moved the date of the auction?”

Snape startles out of his thoughts and makes a thoughtful face that doesn’t look very good on the woman whose hair they stole. “Perhaps our intel was wrong.”

“Oh,” Harry hadn’t thought about that. “Yeah. Perhaps.” Watches Snape swallow and misses his long neck, his Adam’s apple. 

They walk in silence a bit longer, and Harry struggles to breathe. Coughs to clear his throat. He wishes it were dark. That they were in their own bodies, together, in bed.

“What was that?” Snape asks, his voice getting deeper already as the Polyjuice nears its end.

“Nothing,” Harry says, too quick not to sound suspicious. “Sorry, what?”

“No,” Snape’s cheeks look painfully red, the blond hair seems to be getting darker by the second, “thought you’d said something.”

By the time they get to the door, where they both try to let the other go in first, then try to fit through together, then try to let the other person go first before Snape manhandles Harry through the door, the air is crackling between them.

The Polyjuice potion wears off and Harry gets a look at Snape in a too-tight corset, which oddly enough takes his breath away. Sooner than he would’ve liked, Snape has vanished the stolen clothes and is rolling down his trousers again, going through their things for a sweater. His skin is covered in pale gooseflesh, and Harry wants to taste him. He tries to take a deep breath and realizes that he is still wearing stupidly old-fashioned women’s clothes. With a wild blush he starts undressing and putting on normal clothes again too, absurdly aware of his skin changing the whole time. His breathing has almost calmed down when he realizes what Snape is doing. He’s packing.

“Those are yours,” Snape points out, a neat stack of folded things on the table. “I’ll do the washing up.”

“Ah,” Harry blinks at him. Stay. Stay. Let’s stay. “I’ll clean the bathroom?”

“Should you?” Snape looks at him like he wants an answer.

“I don’t know,” he really doesn’t. “Seems polite.” With a quick shrug he flees the room.

Harry cleans out the bathroom as Snape is doing the kitchen, unsure how to say that if they could stay here forever he wouldn’t mind at all. He’d quit his job. They could live off of soup. When he walks out of the bathroom, feeling a little splashed and dishevelled from cleaning, Snape has finished packing and cleaning, everything put away in bags. Harry wants a hug. A kiss. Once more on the kitchen table as a goodbye. He swallows one, twice, thinking of how to ask for what he wants. Hoping Snape will just... help him.

Instead Snape shoulders his bag, nods at him, his mouth a tight line, and disappears with a crack.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! It feels like it's been ages since I've posted any sort of Snarry, thank you for being here to keep me going with your kudos and comments 
> 
> (and thank you Lilian for your voicemessages that keep me going at the darkest of times (like when it's two am and it's WORDS TIME))

Harry tells himself he doesn’t care. He’ll have to go by the office tomorrow for paperwork with Robards, he’ll see Snape there. He doesn’t really need to see Snape every day anyway. He gets to be at The Burrow for Christmas Eve, just like he wanted. And somehow when Molly hugs him and Arthur claps him on the shoulder, and cheers fill the room when he walks in, something is missing.

Christmas Eve is perfectly normal, Harry gets to wear pyjamas and drink hot chocolate, although it seems he lost his favourite sweater somewhere between the guard house and The Burrow. He’ll get a new one in the morning and still misses his sweater all night. He chats with Hermione about the case, talks to Ron about the baby, and plays with Rose.

In the morning Harry wakes up before it’s light. He checks the time and realizes it’s far too early to even think about getting up. It only takes three seconds for him to realize that this won’t do at all, and he puts on warm socks and a bathrobe over his pyjamas. Tiptoes out of the room so he doesn’t wake Charlie. He makes himself some tea when he gets downstairs, and is holding a steaming mug, staring out over the still-dark garden, when the stairs creak.

“Morning, love,” Molly tells him, warm and kind, and he leans down for her, so she can kiss his cheek. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

He does, tell her about it. Red hot cheeks. She coos and smiles and squeezes his hand, then sends him upstairs for a shower and a change. Even has a packed sandwich for him when he comes back down, nervous about his nice robes, his freshly washed hair.

The Ministry is abandoned, so Harry walks straight to the department of MLE, where the lights are not even on. On Robards’ desk are the files he needs to look through, so he does, and signs them too. Then he decides to just find Snape’s address. It can’t be hard, right?

Some rummaging around gets him a memo with ‘contact information’ for the whole team, and Harry finds Snape’s name, then runs out of the building to Apparate before he loses his nerve.

It actually takes most of the day to find him. Snape is, obviously, not at his house, and his neighbours at his boring London flat just blink at him in confusion. Robards doesn’t know where he is either, and Malfoy tells him to go fuck himself until Harry begs. “Alright, alright,” Malfoy sighs. He rummages around in his desk for a long time, and for a lack of better things to do, Harry chats up his baby.

“You’re very big already, aren’t you?” Harry coos at the boy, while he helps him stay sitting in that wobbly baby way and flaps a little dragon toy around his face. Scorpius cackles as he laughs at it, nearly tumbles over with joy, and Harry holds him up with a hand against his back. “There you go,” he says. “Look at you!”

“Potter,” he hears, and when he looks around Malfoy is staring at him, a very puzzled expression on his face. Holding out a piece of paper.

“Right,” Harry manages, as he snatches it away. “Sorry. Thanks. Gotta – thanks.” He makes sure the baby doesn’t fall over and then leaves.

“Yeah,” says Malfoy. “Bye?”

He flees from the manor but he clutches the little paper in his fist as he goes. When he feels the wards trickle past, he reads it, squeezes his eyes shut, and goes.

\--

Harry arrives in the middle of a luckily empty road, facing a gate set in a long hedge. The gate is just made of iron, but beyond it there’s only a field and Harry feels somehow that if he were to jump it he wouldn’t like the results. He does step up closer, and looks for a doorbell he doesn’t end up needing.

The gate swings open and a woman appears at the same time as an enormous manor. “Welcome,” she says, her tone teasing, “come on in.”

He shakes her hand and feels as stupid as he always does introducing himself as Harry Potter, but Sophie’s grin is bright and she looks at him in a calculating way until she seems to come to a conclusion. Then she chats about dinner. What they’ve cooked, who all helped.

Harry is let into a hall where he takes off his shoes as Sophie does, and hangs his coat too. He follows Sophie because he feels like he should, and ends up in a bustling dining room. There’s people everywhere, and even more children, bustling about a long table that is half-set. There’s a girl at the very end reading a book, curled up in her chair, and Sophie pets her hair.

“It’s time to eat soon,” she says. “Come help the other kids set the table.”

“M almost done!” the girl whines. “Severus said I could finish it before we eat.”

Sophie smiles and tuts but she walks Harry down to the other side of the table, asks him if there’s anything he’d like to drink.

“I’m alright,” Harry says, still quite confused, but then a boy no older than Teddy walks in and as soon as he sees Harry his whole face becomes a thundercloud.

“I was going to sit there!” he wails, and one of the older kids tells him to stuff it but a parent explains to him that there’s someone over for dinner and guests get to sit at the head of the table even if it was his turn. “I don’t want to wait until tomorrow!” He says, gearing up for a proper fuss by the looks of it.

Harry doesn’t understand the table rules and he doesn’t particularly care about where he sits either way, but he knows not to argue about weird habits right before dinner. So he leans over a little. “Hey,” he tells the kid. “If you have dinner at your own seat then we can swap before dessert if you’d like?”

“And then I can sit here again tomorrow,” the boy says, as if that’s a negotiation Harry will have anything to do with. Harry shrugs. He really doesn’t know. The child accepts, after what looks like very serious deliberation, and climbs into a chair a few seats away.

Other people have been filtering in, chatting or not, some carrying dishes that are filling up the table nicely. It all smells amazing. When Snape enters the room he is carrying an enormous dish that looks both hot and heavy, and he freezes in place when he sees Harry. He looks like he’d drop the whole thing if he hadn’t been well-trained by years of working with substances more abrasive than roast potatoes. But it’s too late to hide. Harry has seen his paint-splattered joggers, and the sweater Snape is wearing. The same one he remembers unpacking about five or six years ago, when Molly told him she’d bought the shiny wool she used to make the phoenix just for him.

“Hi,” offers Harry, unable not to smile at the sight of Snape in his sweater. “I was invited to join for dinner.”

Snape nods and sets the dish down, immediately gets roped into doing something else, and by the time he sits down next to the boy Harry just argued about chairs with, everyone else is seated and quiet.

Someone stands up. “Evening all,” she says. “We’ve got a load of different things for you tonight, Harry are you vegetarian?” She looks at Harry as she says it and Harry is so surprised he just shakes no. “Alright, so the big pan of potatoes has goose fat please don’t eat from the other pan until the vegetarians have had some.” She explains a little about everything that’s on the table, and then sits down. Everyone starts talking and clattering dishes at once.

Harry is fully paralyzed with how overwhelmed he is until the girl sitting next to him introduces herself as Beth, explains how she’s related to the people around the table she’s related to, and helps Harry get some food on his plate.

“Did I understand correctly that you made this?” Harry asks when he’s taking a second helping of the frankly amazing aubergine.

“I did!” she grins when he compliments her and tells him all about the cooking they do and how they’re managing to keep this many people fed without anyone going batty with the effort.

“Did... did Severus cook anything here?” Harry asks, because he hadn’t heard Snape’s name while the lady he now knows to be called Marlene explained everything, but he has realised that it’d be strange of him to say Snape in this context.

“No, no,” Beth laughs, and her cousin joins in.

“He never does,” the cousin says.

“Severus says Potions Masters can occasionally be relied upon to provide drinks but nothing else,” Sophie chimes in. Loud enough that Snape must have heard.

But Harry can’t help himself. “How about soup?” he asks, and everyone around him laughs. He didn’t mean for that to happen, and when he looks at Snape, feeling quite apologetic, Snape is looking at him too, his eyes bright, his mouth just curled at the corner. It’s nice to share an inside joke like this, and Harry can’t help but smile back.

When the table is being cleared and set up for desert, a little hand tugs at Harry’s sleeve.

“You promised,” the child says. Ben, if Harry remembers correctly. Harry nods. It’s true. He stands up a bit shakily, yielding his seat, and walks over to where Ben had been sitting.

When Snape finishes setting down dishes and sits next to Harry, he only raises a single eyebrow at him. Harry has to clear his throat before he can speak. “I – it appears I interrupted the chair rotations schedule,” Harry manages, and Snape turns his head sharply. His hair curtains down and Harry gets the distinct impression he’s trying not to smile. “Thank you,” Harry says, when they’ve been told what sort of pies were baked. Snape looks up at him, his lips pink from the berries. “For – for making me be welcome here.”

“You’d have been welcome on your own merit,” Snape tells him, very quietly.

“But I’d have been a stranger,” Harry points out. He realises as he says it that he isn’t one now, and he’s not sure what to say about that but luckily the girl that finished the book has something to talk to Severus about and someone that introduces himself as Jack starts arguing with Harry about Quidditch and it’s all quite nice.

The conversation about Quidditch lasts beyond dessert to the coffee that Beth passes to Harry, but Harry hadn’t realised Snape’d gone until Beth passes him another cup. “The library,” Sophie says, “it’s three doors down, on the right.”

“End of the hall,” Beth clarifies.

Snape looks at him like he’s been waiting for him, when Harry opens the door to the library carefully with his elbow. So Harry decides to be brave. He hands over one of the cups of coffee, then sits down on the floor in front of Snape. They’re both facing the fire, Harry with his back against the chair, Snape curled up in his seat. After a moment Harry reaches up his hand, over his shoulder, until Snape reaches back. His hand is clammy.

“Why’d you take the sweater?” Harry asks, as gently as he can. He tilts his head all the way back so he can look at Snape upside-down.

“I wanted it,” Snape blinks and swallows. Inhales like he’s trying to say something else. 

Harry isn’t sure where to go from here, feels hollow and strange. He just wants comfort. The honesty of lying together at night, sated and perhaps a little drunk.

“I was happy – in the guard house,” he says, hoping Snape will help.

Instead Snape looks even more confused, but he’s starting to let the hand that isn’t holding Harry’s wander, over the sensitive skin of Harry’s neck, touching his face. It feels more intimate than anything else they’ve done, to look up at him as he touches Harry. “How so?” Snape asks.

“You’re looking at me like you want me,” Harry says, before he realizes that’s not the question Snape asked. “And I felt safe, I enjoy being near you.”

“Me too,” Snape answers, “I do.” And Harry decides that’ll have to do for now.

“Take me to your room,” he whispers, and Snape stands, legs shaking, shoulders tight. He doesn’t let go of Harry’s hand as he pulls him down the corridor and up the stairs, then into a bedroom lit up with the fading sun, an enormous four-poster right in the middle. A happy fire crackling.

Harry wonders if it’d be as intimate as being together in bed at night to be under the covers of that bed, and Snape smiles as if he heard him. Harry takes off his shoes and Snape just slides under the bedcovers, until he’s nothing more than a bump under the covers. After taking one last look to wonder about the position he’s in, Harry joins him.

“Hello,” he whispers. He can’t see anything but he can smell Snape. The bed is still cold, and they come closer together in the middle of it, holding the sheets so they stay covered.

“Hello,” Snape whispers back. It feels brave.

Harry doesn’t know what he wants. He’s not ambitious about anything, he doesn’t know who he is exactly, or what he’d like to be doing with his life. His eyes feel hot as the feeling grows, but then Snape leans in. Like he wants Harry to have enough time to get away. As if Harry isn’t in bed with him, didn’t Apparate across the country for him. As if Harry wouldn’t crawl into his skin if he could.

“You can,” he whispers to Snape, and then they’re kissing. Hot and deep, far too fast. Harry rolls Snape onto his back to kiss him better, and runs out of air so fast it makes him dizzy. He pulls the covers away and relishes the cold that rushes in. Snape arches into him, wet and hot and eager. Harry searches for the edges of his clothes while Snape claws at his back, and manages to get Snape mostly naked. The sheets are still sliding down. When Snape pulls at his robes and his shirt, the cold air against his back makes him shiver, but in the last light he can see Snape. Almost entirely naked. His cheeks flushed. Chewing his lip with crooked teeth.

“What?” Asks Snape, frowning suddenly, and Harry takes off the last of their clothes. Lies between crumpled sheets, and admires Snape’s body.

Covered in thin black hair. Soft pale skin. His stomach going up-down as he pants. “Beautiful,” Harry decides, and he leans in to put a love bite right on the inside of Snape’s right hip. Snape whines and scrabbles and doesn’t push him off, so he keeps going until there is a nice red mark. “Want to taste you,” he says. Looks at Snape for permission, grins when he nods.

Harry kisses his way from his face down to where Snape’s cock is leaking and twitching. He’s salivating, his mouth feels empty, he wants Snape in him, and he sinks down in one go. Snape whines and claws at the mattress, and bucks into him, as Harry licks him all over, relishing in the hot salty smell, the way Snape’s skin lights up. Snape is growling and panting, and when Harry holds his hips and sucks, Snape comes, twitching and gasping, hands pulling at Harry’s hair in warning. His stomach’s muscles are still jumping when Harry sits up and falls over him in eagerness. For a kiss, just to be held.

“Fuck me,” Snape tells him, his voice raw and scratchy. Harry sits up a little to look at him, and goes to find his wand so he can summon lube. “No need,” Snape’s chest is flushed, he’s pulling at Harry as if he’ll never let him go, “just fuck me.”

“Not without lube I won’t,” Harry decides, and he snatches it out of the air as it comes flying. Honours Snape’s near-desperate want by just slicking himself up and getting in position. Snape is squirming, leans up to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck, and Harry pushes in, just the first two inches or so.

“I want this,” Snape promises.

“I’ll tie you up next time,” Harry says, “you’ll look so pretty in rope. I’ll make you sweat and lick you clean.”

Snape is writhing now, his head rolling back and forth, and Harry is quivering with the need to stay perfectly still. Snape must be sensitive all over now, stretched and barely prepared and having just come. “Would you like that?” Harry whispers.

“Would I like that,” Snape echoes. And Harry kisses his neck. He sounds overcome.

“Is this too much?” Harry asks, and Snape takes a deep breath in when Harry touches his nose to the wet skin of his neck.

“Is this - too much,” Snape says. Then: “no. I’m... good.” He blinks and seems to come back to himself a little. “Happy.”

“Alright,” Harry soothes, and he pushes in a little deeper, feels Snape flutter all around him, leans away a bit to see all of Snape’s face scrunched and red. Little sips of air being panted in. Harry breathes with him, and settles in deeper still, finally all the way flush.

“Mo-ove,” Snape urges, twitches his hips in little circles, and Harry pulls out again, almost as slow as the first time. All the way out. He slicks himself up with more lube, and pushes back in, the lube cold between them for only a second.

“You’re in me,” Snape pants. And again. Harry moves in and out, and Snape moves with him. “You’re. In. Me.” The sound of skin on skin, air being pushed out of lungs. Harry leans on his hands and Snape wraps his legs around his waist tighter, his eyes closed so tight he’ll give himself a headache.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, and Snape opens his eyes. Deep wet black. A small smile around his lips, and he shines. Claws his hands up Harry’s back, so Harry leans in for a kiss. Feels Snape’s cock between them, hard and ignored. Harry sits back on his knees, pulling Snape’s hips closer so he can keep fucking him, and resettling Snape’s feet on his shoulders. He feels them flex and watches Snape’s thighs clench as he fucks him. “Gonna make you come again,” he promises, and now Snape is clawing at himself. Pulling his hair, holding his elbows, stretching out to hold onto the bed. Harry uses his nails to scratch down Snape’s sides, leaving red stripes, and Snape arches and mewls, which shifts his position, which makes him cry out.

“Please,” he whines, and Harry can’t help but grin at him.

“Still haven’t licked your arse for you,” Harry says, as conversationally as he can manage. Snape bites his lip and still can’t stop the noises escaping, so Harry takes pity on him. Snape is clearly very close to being overstimulated and after leaning in for one more kiss, Harry holds Snape’s cock as he fucks him steadily. Focusing entirely on Snape’s pleasure to avoid thinking about his own. He’s far too close. When Snape comes finally, gripping onto the bed, arching off the mattress, come all over Harry’s hand, it sets Harry off too. He takes care to stop as soon as he’s done shivering, Snape is going to be very sore.

Snape, who’d look dead if his ribs weren’t moving with his breath. He’s motionless as Harry untangles them, and hasn’t shifted by the time Harry has cleaned himself up and found a flannel for Snape. Barely shifts when Harry cleans him up and then just Vanishes the flannel for lack of a place to put it.

When Harry cocoons them both in the still-warm duvet, and pulls Snape, warm and pliant, closer to his needy and sore body, Snape leans in for a kiss.

“Severus,” he mumbles, tucking his head under Harry’s chin, and Harry says it back.

“Severus.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic I was going to write when I was writing for the [2018 Snarry Swap](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/snarry_swap18), for the prompt that gave us all [Cabin Fever](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16772848). I didn't know how to finish this story, didn't know what to do with it, and ended up changing directions.  
> If it feels familiar - that's why. It's a different story, though, a different Severus, a different Harry. I hope you enjoy it and I'd love to hear your thoughts, whether you've read Cabin Fever or not.


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